Whimsy

Whimsy gets a bad rep. As a word,

as a feeling— We associate it with

serendipity — which is the name

of a not so good rom com — and with

fantasy — which is the name of a

mediocre dive bar in every city

that’s run out of names for dive bars.

Can you imagine a straight man saying the word “whimsy?” It would never happen. He’d sooner say “Gaga” or call me a slur to my face.

And look, I’m not entirely sure I know what whimsy is, either, but I can tell you that

I recently saw a Broadway show on 44th street at the peak of summer. Maybe Happy Ending. In the balcony, I sat next to a girl of about 10 years old, who was sitting next to her mom.

The show was funny, full of heart, unique, human, and only one act. At one point in the show, the main characters stood illuminated by a sharp spotlight in front of an opaque, black screen. The music swelled after a minute of tension from the strings, and the screen opened, and the spotlight dissipated.

Then, the “wow” factor: The orchestra was on the stage, revolving amidst a simulation of fireflies. The audience collectively drew their breath in and applauded.

The girl next to me gasped, covered her mouth, and grabbed her mother’s arm, as if to say, “Are you seeing this?” I imagine it was her first Broadway show. The moment took her breath away in every way. It took mine away too.

It made me remember all the shows my parents took me to when I was that age. And it made me so wordlessly grateful that that childlike “wow” feeling was still in me, alive enough to make my eyes water and the hairs on my arm lift.

This girl hopefully knows nothing about finding an apartment in New York, or about credit card debt, or about the manmade wars that surround her. There will come a time for all of those things and so much more, so much heaviness. But in that moment, not much stood between her humanity and mine. We both knew that, onstage, those were not real fireflies or real robots. But neither of us cared. And we were both in awe.

This was my favorite moment of the whole show — not what was happening on stage — but what was happening just three inches from my left elbow:

A mix of excitement and awe and wonder and

appreciation and curiosity and even a touch

of sadness rooted in the innate understanding

that the show must move on from this –

as all shows and lives and relationships do –

and that moments can be both wonderful

beyond imagination and brief enough

to make the heart – whether it be

10, 28, or 78 years old – ache a bit.

Yes, I’m not entirely sure I know what whimsy is, but I do think it’s something close to this: a string section’s swell, a surprise, a collective gasp of awe and delight, a ten year old’s first Broadway show, a mother’s joy at seeing her kid beam, and the standing-ovation sort of gratitude we’re able to offer one another, once in a fleeting while.

Put all of it together and you’ve got whimsy. You’ve got a life worth living. You’ve got something to chase.

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